


Suddenly (My Body Fell Into Yours)

by mayorcocko (doc_boredom)



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: 1 800 ARE YOU NASTY, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Porn With Plot, Tour Bus Sex, also a thing, because it's what they deserve okay, dylan germick is an enabler of all things terrible and we love him for it, he's a moth ok????, listen i've thought this shit out thanks, mentions of light oviposition, okay in all seriousness, sensitive core physics, there's literally a scene where the guys are just having fun on stage, twrpclub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doc_boredom/pseuds/mayorcocko
Summary: Sung was slowly but surely dying.It’s the fact that it’s the middle of summer, that the humidity is thick and oppressive and unavoidable, that they’re touring along the seam of the Midwest where the cicadas shriek senselessly as the sun takes its sweet time setting...And really it’s just hot as balls.-Title inspired by Kevin Abstract's "American Boyfriend"





	Suddenly (My Body Fell Into Yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's finally back with SMUT bitches.  
> Uh, yeah, the la familia norner (i know, that's uh, quite the sentence to unpack) was asking for some TWRP nastiness and well, I may or may not have had an overheated Sung request in my nsfw account inbox for ages now, so I finally got around to writing this shit up. Also, I'm a huge slut for Sung/Phobos content okay. Like, stupid for it, so this is what you get. 
> 
> You can always send requests (and I'm assuming hate cos I'm putting this in the main tag after all like a mad man) to mayorcocko over on that diddle dang tumblr thing. thanks much -chris o'neill voice- LOVE YA!

Sung was slowly but surely dying.

It’s the fact that it’s the middle of summer, that the humidity is thick and oppressive and unavoidable, that they’re touring along the seam of the Midwest where the cicadas shriek senselessly as the sun takes its sweet time setting...

And really it’s just hot as balls.

At least he isn’t Meouch, not only with his thick fur and heavy mane, but with his morphsuit stretched over his Leoian skin, forcing him into a strange human guise. “This is bullshit.” He informs Sung, shoving his aviators up his long nose. “Holy shit, fuck this.”

Sung nods in silent agreement as they make their way backstage, somehow hotter than it was outside. “Gods, can we…” He calls out , gesturing upwards as they find their way to the stage. He twirls his fingers some, turns his wrist until it cracks, gives a low noise of discontent as he resists to push his hair over his ears (he always has to wear it long when they’re on Earth and he _hates_ it) “Do something about this?” The heat, he means, and it's apparent persistence on staying in his life.

A few staff members turn their heads to them, staring helplessly before returning to the task at hand, effectively ignoring him. It’s Justin (ever the little shit) that gives a loud snort in response before approaching the foot of the stage with two water bottles in hand. “AC’s shot, Sung.” He’s got his sleeves rolled up over his tattooed arms, short hair tucked under his cap, that half smirk of his seemingly permanent. Sung gives a dismayed noise, already feeling Meouch’s growing annoyance at the situation. Anything but this...

His despair must be gods damned obvious because Justin finally relents, giving Sung a sympathetic frown as he hands over both bottles. Meouch pops his open and drinks from it greedily but Sung takes his sweet time pressing it to his forehead, his neck, biting back a groan at how good the cold of it feels. “They’ve been working on it all day, my dude.” There’s a sweat stain seeping down the back of Justin's shirt as he turns and Sung can’t help but cringe as Meouch snarls in response, lips pulling back to show off too sharp teeth for a human. In turn, Justin raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yeah yeah, get pissy about it Commander. At least you haven’t been here all day.” Justin waves him off, obviously not having it. He speaks then in a much softer voice, more so to himself than to them. “I’ve sweat off like, five pounds already and this shit hasn’t even fuckin’ started. Christ.”

“Then what’s Dylan gonna do, Justin? Die?” Sung gives a little scoff before he starts to gulp from his own bottle, drawing the human's attention back to them. “And what about the crowd? Justin, we’re sold out!” It wasn’t the human’s fault, of course. He’s the best merch lord you could ask for and that’s that, but a little warning would have been nice. The venue itself was much too small for its own good, especially for the amount of people they assumed would show. It’d be packed to the brim at this point. Sung even _liked_ places like this, adored them really, nook and cranny types where you could lean into the thick of the crowd and see every smiling face. Feel the energy of it all, the anticipation, the want and need as people lost themselves to the music…

But not like this.

Havve strides past them, breaking the tense silence that’s managed to spring up between the group with the whir of his cooling fans, completely unbothered by the awful heat as he begins to set up his drum kit.

 _Hello, Havve._ Sung calls over their link. _You cool?_

He gets a middle finger raised at him in response.

_Alright, fuck you too, then._

“You listenin’ Doc?” Justin’s waving his hand at him and Sung’s blinking his eye as he comes back into the conversation. The human sighs and puts his hands on his hips, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. “They’ve got fans apparently until it’s been fixed.” But even then Justin doesn’t sound to confident in that ‘solution’ as he takes one step back and then another, not quite turning away from them but looking to end the conversation all the same. “Just… don’t sweat it, yeah?” He throws over his shoulder.

“Bad joke, dude!” Meouch yells after him but Justin’s already wandered off back to his domain. “Sung, this is…” The Leoian starts.

“I know, I _know_ .” He wants to check the AC himself but they were already running late and he has a fuckton of his own tech to set up. Not to mention the sound check and having to change into his actual costume to be ready on stage. “Listen, drink’s are on me after the show for the trouble.” The empath tries to reason, hating how he can feel the sweat beading along his forehead once more, part nerves and part heat. “Phobos too. Fuck, speaking of, where _is_ he?”

 _Tour bus._ Havve finally deems him worthy to speak to after his (apparently awful) pun. Tour bus? Oh no… Sung bites back a miserable noise, already knowing that it’ll be _him_ who has to step out into that miserable heat to fetch the Lepid. “Tour bus.” He announces to the Leoian when Meouch lets out a questioning grunt.

“Little shit.” Meouch shakes his head. “Probably thinks he can get out of setting anything up. Well let me tell you-!”

“Okay, Grumpy Cat.” Ugh, if Meouch kept this up before he got his pylon on, Sung was going to go insane. “No more yelling. I’ll grab him and _then_ you can tell _him_ what you’re feeling.”

The other male points to him, smiling in a grim way. “And a drink.”

Sure, why not! “And a drink!” Why not just do the show drunk? Anything could be better than going into this shit sober.

Sung slumps out into the too bright day and despite preaching about loving Earth and all that space had to offer he can’t help but raise a middle finger up to the sun before continuing on his way.He can feel the sweat dripping down his back, pooling at the small of it as he stands under the glaring sun. “Phobs!” He knocks a bit louder and more incessantly when no response follows. “C’mon man, I know it’s hot out but it’s time to come help set up. If Meouch can do it, you can.”

Nothing. Nada. Sung closes his eye and sighs. “If I come in there and you’re not on the toilet, you’re dead Phobos. I mean it. Meouch’s gonna thank me and everything for doing it, and then we’re gonna have to find a new guitarist, and no one’s gonna like him, and the band’s gonna break up, and-!”

He barges in and Sung hates the weak noise that slides out of his mouth as the AC rolls over him. He ought to lay into Phobos more, especially now that he’s inside the damn bus and the Lepid can hear him, but he has to give a moment of pause to register what exactly what he’s looking at.

Near naked is the only way to describe the Lepid Lord right now, arms and legs akimbo, accented by the fact that he’s wearing a crop top and the shortest pair of shorts Sung’s ever seen in his entire life (and he had been inside Dylan Germick’s wardrobe, so that was saying something.) He’s on his back, lids closed over his too large eyes, antennae curled in a pleased way. “Ahem.” Sung finally clears his throat because that’s all he can do in that moment, still not quite sure what to make of the situation, thoughts racing as he becomes more and more flushed and confused. The Lepid sits up in response, one of the straps of the flimsy crop top falling off his shoulder, causing Sung to nearly squeak in dismay. It’s just a strangled noise that comes out instead, overshadowed by the slow smile and sleepy noise that Phobos issues in response.

“Popsicles.” He says then, making literally no sense.

“I’m sorry, what?” Sung says helplessly, his voice cracking with it.

“Popsicles.” Phobos repeats in a dreamy voice. “...Sound really good right now.” And just like that Phobos is back down for the count, long legs twisting over one another as he rolls around, humming to himself all the while. Sung can’t help but watch (at least, he tells himself that, for the sake of validating himself and his staring) as Phobos’s stupidly short shorts ride up his thighs.

And then he sees the back of them.

“Are you nasty?” He whispers in a tight voice. Phobos looks over his shoulder and grins, antennae waggling in amusement.

“Dylan.” Phobos offers in explanation. Of course Germick had a hand in this. What a gods damned enabler. He had no right. Sung can’t even bother to figure out if they’re actually on loan or if Dylan had gone and bought the bright red shorts for his friend because he’s too busy still staring at Phobos’s ass as he stretches himself out with a heavy sigh.

The empath scratches the side of his face as a silence suddenly makes itself known between them. “Uh.” He starts dumbly. “Fuck, uh, we’re uh… setting up right now, if you’re good to help out.” Bad start, lame ending. Talk about _embarrassing_. Phobos rolls back onto his back, staring up at Sung.

“But it’s hot.” Phobos states simply.

No shit.

“You’re preaching to the choir, bud.” Sung leans down, offering Phobos his hand. “But we’ve got a show to put on and I don’t think Justin knows how to play any sick guitar riffs, so it’s all on you.” He attempts an easy smile, hoping that Phobos will smile back and all this sudden awkwardness he’s feeling will fade away.

Phobos takes it but instead of pushing himself upwards he’s pulling Sung down. He hears laughter as he wobbles forward, barely managing to catch himself while also avoiding crushing Phobos beneath him as he loses his balance completely. “Phobs!” He yelps.

He continues to giggle, kicking his legs up in amusement. “Five more minutes.” He says after a bit, rolling over his side to smile at Sung. “And get these off.” The Lepid’s long fingers push his hair back, helping ease off his visor.

Say something, Sung. He opens his mouth, closes it as he feels the sweat cooling on his brow as Phobos pushes his hair back from his face. “Okay.” Maybe not five minutes, just a couple… just a few… It feels so gods damned nice in here, after all.

Mischief skims across his core and he can sense that Phobos feels all kinds of pleased with the turn of events. He keeps his eye closed though, stretching his own arms up and out like Phobos had been doing before. “Sung.” The other alien says his name in that whisper soft voice of his, causing Sung to turn to him. When had he gotten so close?

Why was he so gods damned unreadable right now?

That stupid strap is still off of his shoulder and the shirt’s all but lopsided on his small frame at this point. Sung pushes up onto his elbows, tutting under his breath and he goes to fix it, hoping that it’ll be distraction enough. Of course it doesn’t work that way though.

Of course it doesn’t.

Deft fingers pluck at his own short sleeved shirt in response and Sung near hisses at it’s insistence on sticking to his skin before it comes away. “You’re still so sweaty.” The Lepid murmurs in this disappointed way, like he had been expecting this momentary reprieve to make everything right. Sung rolls his eye, hand still on Phobos’s shoulder, smiling just a bit in response.

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, I’ll be changing soon eno-”

His words strangle themselves into nothing the moment he feels Phobos’s hands at the bottom of his shirt, tugging the fabric once more before pulling it up, up,  up, revealing his toned abdomen beneath. Sung sucks in a surprised breath then as the cold hits, as the _surprise_ hits, as he’s left there trying to make sense of what the fuck is happening. “Ha…” He goes for a laugh but it just comes out as a shaky exhale.

Phobos looks up at him, a slow and measured glance, a purpose filled thing that makes it even harder to breathe (gods, if that was even possible.) He leans in, no warning, until there’s barely any space between them, his yellow-gold of his hair brushing against Sung’s freckled face, his cool, callused fingers pressing into his skin. “Phobos.” Sung breathes.

“Hey!” Meouch’s voice calls from the other side of the door. They both whip towards it and Sung’s nearly bowled over by everything that comes off of Phobos in that moment. Annoyance, surprise, shock…

Something like want.

Something like need.

“I’m about to drag both your asses out here onto the fuckin’ concrete if you don’t hurry up doing whatever the fuck it is you’re doing in there.” The Leoian seethes, voice muffled through the closed door. Sung looks back at Phobos, his mouth working uselessly, Phobos’s own curling in a pleased way as he stands.

“C’mon, Doctor.” The Lepid murmurs as he holds out his hand, mirroring the earlier moment they had had. Sung takes it finally as he feels Meouch’s fury reach a fever pitch outside, completely masking whatever it was that Phobos was feeling in that moment.

“You’re not going out like that.” Sung manages shakily. Phobos pauses before the door, sticking out his hip just so.

“What?” He says innocently but his face and posture is anything but. “I’ll be changing soon enough.”

Gods help him.

Phobos is out the door before he can say anything else, practically flouncing if Sung had to decide on a word to describe it. He hears Meouch give a spluttered noise before the Leoian in human skin peeks in, eyes saucer wide. “The fuck was that, Doc?” He points to his butt then, as if Sung _wouldn’t_ know what he was on about.

“...Trouble…” Sung grumbles. “Let’s just get this over with.”

-

For very obvious reasons, Dylan takes it a bit easier than he usually does up on stage.

Rob’s even drenched in sweat by the time they lope off of stage though, his white button up near see through, tie wrapped around his head to keep his hair off his brow. Josh’s bedazzled zip up had been lost to the other side of the stage, thrown off and away the moment they had started, and now he was red faced and pushing his glasses up his sweaty features over and over again as he attempted a winning smile (more grimace than anything) in their direction. And Dylan. Poor Dylan Germick hadn’t even bothered to pull his dress shorts back on as they exited the stage, instead just stumbling his way back in his sparkling booty shorts before landing in a graceless, dramatic heap on the floor.

“Jesus Christ.” The human wheezes out, pressing his face against floor. “Good… good fuckin’ luck out there.”

Sung pats Dylan’s sweaty mop of hair, doing a not so subtle job of shaking his hand out and grimacing when it comes away covered in sweat, before putting a cold water bottle on his bare back. There’s a low, pleased groan and they all give each other a look before Sung snorts and moves away.

They still had to pull on their respective masks and helmets before they went up and out into that human world. Havve is already ready and waiting for them and all Sung can think about is how he’s already too fucking hot in all of this skin tight clothing. He looks over at Phobos and finds the Lepid tucking his antennae away into the hood of his suit, zoning out as he does. Their eyes connect and Phobos tilts his head in question, not a hint of any earlier mischief or teasing on his face.

Sung still can’t get the image of Phobos in those damn shorts out of his head. He knows because Havve called him out on it just a bit before, barking down their link that he didn’t need _that_ mental image in his head. He went and blocked him out but Sung’s still painfully embarrassed about it, that he had basically let his walls fall down without a second thought, the ghost of Phobos’s touch on his skin making it all too easy…

The crowd is chanting and he feels too hot and short of breath in that moment. There’s a lot of people out there, the undercurrent of annoyance at the heat smothered by their growing excitement. Phobos throws him one last unreadable look, the corner of his mouth quirking before he pulls his helmet over his head. He moves first, long legs taking him out to the dark stage.

Havve next. The robot gives him one last pointed look before he’s stomping off. Meouch’s sighs and he readies himself to go next, fixing the lion mask on his not-face. “You still owe me a drink, Sung.” He says, finger slipping under the neck of his suit, pulling at it with an annoyed sound. “That and I get first dibs on the shower.”

“Fuck off, dude.” Sung huffs as he snaps the chinstrap of his pylon on. It wouldn’t do him any good tonight with keeping them out, but it still brought him a silent comfort.

“Well someone should have gotten me my drink instead of fucking around with Phobos, then.” Oh he hates that wording. Hates the imagery it draws up. Sung pushes the Leoian then, desperate to get him out on stage. The sooner he was out there the sooner Sung could come up and then he’d just lose himself to the music and the crowd and the lights.

Right?

They all push forward when he shows up and for a moment his smile falters because it almost feels like too much. Like his core is going to melt out of his chest from it all. Sung chuffs out a laugh for his own benefit before he makes his way to the front. Havve’s drumming feels like a heartbeat, Meouch’s low bass slapping emphasizing it, and he damn near loses himself in it before Phobos’s guitar cuts through it, clear and sharp, bringing him back to the moment.

Right.

And the show goes on. He apologizes for the lack of the infamous Swagtron as soon as the first song is done, joking that Dylan went and drenched the entire stage in sweat and that it was safety hazard (Meouch following up by asking for a bunch of wet floor signs to sprinkle across the stage from the staff) and then for the fucked up AC too. “You know.” He muses as he strides across the stage, making his way to Phobos, feeding off the good energy coming off of everyone in the crowd. “Since I have you all gathered here today in this great place, I think it’s time we talk about something important and extremely relevant. Now Lord Phobos, what do you think is on the agenda?” He pitches his voice a bit more brightly, really playing up the campiness of it.

His face is unreadable through his mask but there’s no mistaking the interest coming off of the other male. He plays a few chords on his guitar before inclining his head in question, causing Sung to laugh gaily. He puts his arm around Phobos’s shoulder, drawing him close. “No, not music, Lord Phobos. We’re here to talk about the eventual heat death and collapse of the universe. You know…” A pause that he fills with the biggest, brightest smile he can manage. “Entropy!”

He hears the Lepid snort and shake his head as the crowd gives a bunch of hoots and hollers as confused amusement spreads across their ranks.

“Hey Doc, I don’t think all these humans came here for all this... science talk.” Meouch says in a fake annoyed voice from the other side of the stage. “I know _I_ didn’t…”

“I can’t help it Meouch! It’s so _hot_ in here!” They all give noises of agreement and Sung’s spurred on by it. “Phobos, are _you_ interested? What about everyone else here tonight?” Some people whoop in response. “See, Commander! You can’t deprive these people of the knowledge they so desire.” He can’t help but smile then. Phobos pokes his shoulder and his blinks his eye behind his visor before leaning up to the taller male. “What’s that, Phobos?”

“Dork.” Phobos whispers as they continue their little act. Sung has to smother his giddy smile, rubbing his chin thoughtfully instead as he ‘listens’ to Phobos. He looks at the Lepid then, nodding in an appraising way.

“Okay everyone, Lord Phobos has proposed we take a vote. Is that fair enough, Meouch?” The Leoian throws his hands up and rolls his eyes behind his mask. “Ah, ignore the sour puss everyone and focus on _me_.” He points two thumbs at his core, grinning giddily. “If you wanna hear the same ol’ concert we do almost every night, let’s hear it!” Of course it’s loud as hell, nearly shaking the rafters as every fan turns their face up to scream. He hears Phobos smother a giggle, nodding eagerly at everyone. “Okay, okay, now let’s give it up for a valid education!” He throws out his arms, waggling his fingers about enthusiastically.

Hilariously enough there’s actually quite a lot of noise, but nowhere near as loud as the first cheer. Sung covers his mouth, slipping out of character for a moment as he starts to laugh in earnest. “This is gonna be a good crowd, I can tell.” They all light up at that, leaning forward, a few hands coming down on the edge of the stage and they lean up on their tiptoes towards him. “Who knows, maybe the mood will change, maybe there’s still hope to educate you lot. But now, I guess… I guess, I guess, I guess...” He lets his head loll back, groaning some. “I _guess_ we’ll get back to jamming out.” He does his best Charlie Brown walk of shame to the synth board, listening to the sympathetic noises everyone lets out, a few ‘I’m sorry Sung!’’s rising up from the crowd, finding it harder and harder to mask his smile. “I’m sorry guys! It’s just... I just care a lot about planet Earth, you know! You could say… Well, you could say I respect her.”

Phobos drops his face into his hands and Havve does an obligatory _BADUM-TSS_ on his drums in response as just about everyone in the crowd groans at his awful joke. “Huh, that was… that was a good segway, right Commander?” Sung grins.

Meouch gives him a long, hard look in response. “It only took like, five whole minutes but sure, Doc… Great… great job.” He gives him two thumbs up and Sung bounces a few times before he brings his fingers down on the keys. “Now, let’s get ready to R.E.S.P.E.C.T Her, everyone.”

It’s easy to lose himself in it now. He doesn’t give a shit about the sweat slipping down his skin, causing his suit to stick to every inch of him, the near humid state that exists inside his pylon, matting his hair down to his skull under his hood. No, how could he when everything came together so perfectly? Every beat, every note, every shift in tone and pace and measure. His body moves of his own accord as he lets himself slip into that emotion that’s coming off the crowd. Hips rolling with it, thoughts leaving him in the rush. This is what he lives for, for the music, for the moment…

How quickly the end of the show comes.

Dylan’s striding up on the stage then, looking so much better than he did before in a new suit, grinning like mad in that Dylan Charles Germick way of his. “Doctor Sung.” He purrs and a few people wolf whistle and shriek on their behalf.

“Mister Booty.” He hums back in a pleased way over the microphone. The human advances a step and Sung retreats playfully, taking one too many steps in his crowd fueled haze that he ends up bumping right into Phobos. The Lepid stumbles before grabbing Sung’s shoulders, steadying him. “Aw, what’s this about now? You leavin’ me for Lord Phobos here?” Dylan whimpers, clutching his hands to his heart as everyone else gets situated on stage.

“Well how can I help myself with those short shorts you got him?” Sung blurts with a huge smile before he can help himself. There’s a full moment where he can see Dylan’s eyes go wide behind his reflective glasses, where the crowd shifts with confusion and he realizes what he’s said.

What he’s done.

Oh _no_.

“Well, how can I help myself?” Cue Dylan to the rescue. He scoots around Sung, wrapping an easy arm around the Lepid. “Of course, I was hoping to see them myself first. I only get to see it when it’s all protected and covered up, folks.” He spins Phobos and the other takes to it easily, putting on a show of shaking his backside, bringing the crowd back to that comfortable place once more as Dylan gestures to it, causing all kinds of laughter. “Look at this! One of these days we’re gonna have to have a booty off, but I think right now the people are looking for something else.” Some boos rise up and Dylan snorts in surprise. “Or maybe I’m wrong…?”

“They were lookin’ to learn earlier too, so I wouldn’t trust this crowd with jack shit.” Meouch harrumphs from his end of the stage, causing Rob to duck his head with a quiet laugh. “Listen, can we just get to jammin? My thumb’s getting twitchy.” He plays out a few impatient notes, tapping his foot as he does.

“It’s because the Commander’s got everything goin’ on in the front, not in the back y’all.” Dylan smirks, prompting Meouch’s finger to slip as he gives a choked noise of surprise. “But he’s right. I think we got a show to finish up. Can’t keep everyone here all night, Sung.”

How he wishes he could. He can feel Phobos staring at him and he’s flushed to hell under his helmet. He takes his place at the synth board and draws in an unsteady breath. Just get this over with Sung…

It goes by quickly, Dylan and Josh making up for the fact that his thoughts are scattered a million miles away from the stage. They had decided to make Tactile Sensation their encore song given how hot it was, and just about everyone seemed cool with it, storming out of the venue the moments the doors opened up. For a moment Dylan caught his arm as they were exiting off stage, dragging him off to the side.

“What was that?!” He wasn’t angry. Dylan didn’t do angry. Instead there was an excited light in his eyes and a lean-to in his body that brought him inches from Sung. Sung gives a nervous little laugh as he undoes the buckle of his pylon, using that as an excuse not to answer the other male.

“It was just… You know how I can get Dylan.” He rips the helmet off and starts to work off his hood next. Dylan reaches over, helping as best as he can.

“With Phobos though?” The human muses, helping brush his hair back from his face with careful hands. Sung blushes and bats his hands away, shaking the rest of his disgustingly sweat damp hair out. “Now see, the thing is…” Dylan starts.

“The thing is you bought him those damn shorts in the first place.” Sung supplies in a hissing voice. Dylan gives a pleased laugh then, clapping his hands together. “Gods, Germick, what’s a man supposed to do?” No point in hiding it, he supposes. Dylan knew. Hell, everyone out there probably knew it too.

Fuck.

“Well, Sung, I did come up with a song called Take off your Pants. I think it’s applicable to the situation. You just gotta get Pinky alone when he’s got them back on again and start seranadin’ him.” Sung’s really flushed now, averting his eye as he clears his throat. “I wasn’t expecting you to out him in front of all of the crowd though. That was _priceless_. You shoulda seen Josh’s face!”

“Oh fuck off.” He pushes Dylan gently. “Go say hi to your fans, give ‘em a smooch, make someone’s night.”

“You do the same, Doctor. You do the same.” Dylan smacks his ass then without any kind of warning, grinning as he jogs off. Sung stares after him, covering his face, groaning. No delaying now….

He avoids Meouch and Havve, currently tucked away in their own corner of the dressing room, reading Havve’s amusement as the Leoian pulls his human skin off with as much drama and flair as he can. “You lookin’ for Phobos?” Josh catches his shoulder as he passes, making a face when he feels how wet the back of his suit is. Sung frowns in apology but nods. “Yeah uh, he’s back in the tour bus.” Josh brings his hand down once, twice, a knowing looking in his brown eyes. “Good luck, Sung.”

The night’s a living thing as he steps out into it, amazed with how warm it still is outside. For a moment he stands there, collecting his thoughts as the moon shines down and summer’s song swells around him, the stars a distant hum. A moth flits by and he can’t help but manage an amused laugh at the sight. “Right…” If that isn’t a sign Sung doesn’t know what is. The tour bus is dark as he approaches and for a moment he doubts that Phobos is even in there.

But then the door opens and Phobos smiles down at him while being lit from behind. Sung stares up at him, wetting his lower lip with his tongue, not certain of what to do next because Phobos is in those damn shorts again, his hair wet from the shower. “That was fast.” He finally says.

“Gods, Sung.” Phobos snorts as he leans down, grabbing the front of his suit, dragging him close. Almost no space between them again, only a step up, a step down…

He feels gross and sweaty and unworthy of the Lepid Lord in that moment. But then Phobos pulls him up that next step and before he can say something else, before he can even ask what this was and why it was happening, Phobos is kissing him as soft as can be. Sung’s sure he’s gone and imagined it but then there’s another pass of the Lepid’s lips over his and there’s no denying it.

Not here, where literally anyone could find them all tangled up on one another, no good explanation for it whatsoever. “Phobos.” He says against the other’s mouth. The other male pulls away and looks down at him with the wide eyes of his, his breath faltering as he does.

“I’m sorry.” Sung can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a statement or a question. “I just… I thought…” The empath brings a finger up to his mouth and gently shushes Phobos, causing the other to stutter a bit before he does. He steps up into the other’s personal space then, closing the door behind them, and despite the fact that there’s an entire bus waiting for them they stay in that cramped entrance, staring at one another.

Phobos speaks before he can. “Stupid.” He hisses out, tugging the bottom of his shirt down with a weak noise, anxious embarrassment rolling off of him in waves. “This was stupid. I’m stupid.”

“Phobos…”

“I just thought…”

“Phobos.”

“Dylan said it would be a good idea!”

Sung can’t help the laugh that slips out of him. The Lepid whines in the back of his throat and goes to move away but Sung’s quicker, grabbing his wrists gently and keeping him anchored in place. It’s painfully warm inside the bus, and Sung’s not entirely sure what’s happening, but whatever it is it’s exciting and new and he likes it. Likes Phobos. Likes how good he looks in this stupid get up that Dylan apparently put him into. “A good idea for what, Phobos?” He says in a soft voice.

“T-To… to get you to notice.” Phobos manages out.

“And why would you want me to notice?” Phobos tries to pull away but he tightens his grip just a bit more.

Phobos looks up and once again that pulse of want spikes through Sung. It’s followed by something much more soft and kind, a pining of sorts that the empath was all too familiar with. How often had he felt those same feelings come off the Lepid during his darkest moments when Sung had come to help him through them? When they sat together with synthesizer and guitar at the ready, a notebook between them as they brainstormed up all sorts of ideas and lyrics. “...Because I like you, Sung.” He whispers on a trembling breath.

And without hesitation, without a second thought, Sung finds himself putting his hands on Phobos’s hips, framing them almost, before bringing the Lepid as close as he can get. “Good.” He rasps out. “Because I like you too.”

He can feel Phobos’s surprise jolt against his core but he’s smiling into the kiss moments later, his arms twining around the back of Sung’s neck as easy as can be. He slides his hands up over Phobos’s sides, delighting in the soft fuzzy feeling of it. Like velvet, almost. It’s so easy to touch him like this. “So the idea was what?” Sung muses, hands now under the other’s shirt. The Lepid shudders, antennae twitching, breaths coming a bit harder now. “Seduce Doctor Sung with as little clothing as possible?”

“Scantily clad. D-Dylan’s words, not mine.” Phobos chokes out, half laughing, half panting.

“Mmm.” Sung hums, bringing his lips to the Lepid’s neck. Phobos is finally touching him, smoothing over the damp material of his suit until he finds the zipper on the back. The sound of it being pulled down so loud in Sung’s ears that he has to pause. Phobos looks down at him, tilting his head just so, suddenly worried. “Sorry,” Sung gives a sheepish chuckle. “I just… this is uh, this is good, it’s just…”

“A lot.” Phobos supplies and Sung nods in eager agreement. He feels relief come off the other then as Phobos gives a small smile in response. “Gods, I thought… thought I was the only one.” He laughs into his hands, antennae bobbing shyly.

“Oh no, not at all Phobs.” He pulls back just an inch, pressing a soft kiss to the other’s cheek. “I’m freaking the fuck out in the best kind of way.” Sung admits.

“But you’re so good.” Phobos laughs. “Y-you just touch me and…” He gives an embarrassed noise and looks away, suddenly ashamed. No. None of that. Sung touches his face, tilting it until they’re both looking at each other again.

He cards his fingers through the other’s hair, leaning back in. “Don’t think about it so much.” It’s like when he was up on stage. He knew Phobos got that way too, losing himself to the music without a second thought, excitement palpable as the show went on. “Just… do what feels right.” That’s what he had told Phobos when they had first started playing together. What felt right. It wasn’t about being the best, about doing it perfectly, it was simply about just finding your pace, your rhythm, your meaning.

There’s fingers in his hair and hot breath against his cheek, his ear then too. Sung closes his eye and feels his core go hot with the sensation. The space closes between them and Sung’s losing himself in the lack of it, the Lepid’s emotions blending into his. Phobos’s hands are slipping under his suit suddenly, gliding over the sweat that still lines his spine, causing him to groan under his breath at the sensation. “You look so good like this.” Sung’s hands drift downwards. “I still can’t believe Dylan went and got you these.” A pause in which he snorts, coming back to himself a bit. “...Who am I kidding?” He traces the hem of them then, loving how Phobos keens and leans into him.

He kisses Phobos and hooks his fingers into the fabric, pulling at them and letting the elastic snap playfully back onto the other’s skin. He’s so gods damned worked up at this point that all Phobos can do at this point is jerk and whine as it happens, hips canting upwards, rocking against Sung’s thigh. He squeezes the Lepid’s bottom then, dragging him even closer. “That’s a good boy.” He murmurs and Phobos thrills at the praise, antennae perking before he grinds himself against Sung’s side. “I didn’t get an answer, by the way.”

Phobos pulls back with flushed cheeks, his chest heaving. “Wha…”

Sung grins, wicked and wild. “Are you nasty?”

A bit more recognition comes into Phobos’s expression and suddenly he’s throwing his head back with a delighted laugh. “Oh Doctor…” He hums as he comes back, his hands slipping into the back of Sung’s suit, down down down until they find the lines of his jockstrap, fingers skimming over the skintight elastic of it. “You have _no_ idea.” Phobos purrs.

He can’t get this stupid thing off fast enough. He distracts himself by slotting his mouth over Phobos’s, their tongues passing over one another as the Lepid digs his fingernails into Sung’s thighs. “Can I fuck you?” It leaves him so earnestly, so easily, not a mistake in the slightest. He wants it. Wants Phobos desperate and begging for more.

Wants Phobos to be all his.

“Please.” Phobos gasps out into his mouth. Their hips are molded together and Sung can’t help but groan as he feels the line of Phobos’s dick against his own. “Please, Sung.” One hand smooths up his front and Sung gives a choked noise as the Lepid’s hand passes over the rim of his oversensitized core.

“Be careful.” He grabs Phobos’s wrist, causing the other to startle. “Keep that up and I’ll be finished before we’ve even started.” A shaky laugh leaves Sung then as Phobos’s brows jump in surprise in response. “Is that what you want?”

“Next time.” Phobos whispers back and Sung thrills with the promise of the future, of another experience like this. The Lepid brings up his second hand and takes a step back, pulling Sung along with him. “Not here though.”

“Oh?” They’re both smiling at each other as they trip along the length of the bus. “Not the doorway where anyone could find us?”

“Mmm-mmm.” He shakes his head. “Tiny tour bus bed, clearly.”

“Gods, you know how to treat a man right, Lord Phobos.” Phobos is laughing against the corner of his mouth, biting at his lip playfully, all light and joy, absolutely beautiful in that moment. The urgency of it all disappears for a moment as Sung takes a seat on the edge of the bed, looking up at the other male.

“...Staring.” Phobos tells Sung in a pleased and embarrassed way after a moment, putting his arms behind his back shyly.

“Can’t help myself.” Sung whispers back. “You’re just…” He’s overwhelmed by the need to touch the other. He hugs his arms around Phobos’s waist, pulling him close until he’s situated between his legs before laying his face against the flat of Phobos’s stomach. His eye closes as he takes a moment to collect himself, to just enjoy the moment for what it is. He feels the Lepid’s fingers on the crown of his head in response, nails scratching along his scalp in a comforting way. “...This just feels right.” He says in a quiet voice into the dark of their shared space.

“Yeah.” Phobos skims his fingers over the tips of his pointed ears and Sung hums with it. “It always has.” He climbs into his lap, a soft smile on his face as he reaches behind to work the rest of the suit off. “Always will.”

It takes a few moments and about halfway they’re both laughing because the damn thing is so wet with sweat and Sung can’t help the long and loud groan that leaves him the moment the air hits his freckled skin. Then Phobos skims his fingers along his collarbone and Sung’s groaning for a completely different reason, especially when he dips his head and presses his tongue to the empath’s sweaty skin, lapping at it desperately.

“Have you ever…?” He asks as his hands find the back of Phobos’s thighs again. Phobos ducks his head and his embarrassment is palpable in that moment, completely undeniable. “I-It’s okay if you haven’t.”

He looks up, antennae curled towards his face. “I-I’ve touched myself.” Phobos admits in a soft voice. “Thinking of you. B-before in the shower too, just in case…”

“Gods.” That goes right to his dick. He drags the back of the shorts down, fingers skimming across the curve of Phobos’s bottom. “Do you...you know…?” Great, now he feels embarrassed too. He’s fooled around with a few people and other aliens in the past, fucked and been fucked, but this is _Phobos_. Sweet and soft and eager and all his in this moment. “Do you…uh, you know, have the stuff?”

Phobos laughs breathlessly at that, antennae bobbing. “Yes.” He leans over to his pillow then, pulling a tube of lube from underneath. Sung draws in a breath before taking it. “C-condoms too, if you want?” Phobos says, drawing his attention from the way the clear liquid moves inside the container.

“Do _you_?” Sung ventures.

They stare at each other before Phobos covers his face with an embarrassed squeak. Sung holds his hands up, palms out in a placating way. “It’s okay if you don’t! More than okay! Like, I’m all good and clean so you don’t have to worry, a-and clearly you are too!”

“Sung!” Phobos slaps his arm, shrilling loudly. “Stop!”

“THIS IS IMPORTANT THOUGH!” Sung insists loudly because he can’t be quiet right now about this. “I just wanna make sure because it’s about what we both want, and I’m fine with it, so if you’re fine with it-!”

“No condoms!” Phobos chokes out, throwing his hands up towards the ceiling.

“OKAY!” Sung blurts back.

They stare at each other for another moment before Phobos snorts. Sung hears his own snort issue in response and suddenly they're both ducking their heads, trying their best not to laugh (and failing spectactularly.) “We’re uh, real good at this.” Sung manages between gulping laughter. “Gods.”

“We’re _so_ good.” Phobos arches his body then and reaches down to pull down his shorts off completely. Sung laughter dies as he watches, his mouth going dry as they slip down past his knees. He knew Phobos had different anatomy down there (hell, they planned their tours around Phobos’s heat as well as Meouch’s, he and Havve taking off for different weeks on their own, letting the two other aliens take care of their business on their own terms) but seeing the tapered ovipositor was something else. “S’weird.” Phobos says with a short, embarrassed laugh, apparently having noticed his staring. “I know.”

“Oh there’s worse things out there.” Sung says with an even shorter laugh. He liked it, actually. He knew Phobos’s kind laid eggs during their heats. What would that feel like…? His core flickers with the image, the thought, goes painfully bright as he draws in a ragged breath.

“Sung?” Phobos worries, drawing him back in.

“Ah, ‘m good. I’m good.” He slips his hands under Phobos’s skimpy shirt (both straps falling down his shoulders now) palms sliding over his strangely soft and lithe form, oh so careful as he brushes up against the vertical scars that decorate his back. Phobos stiffens before he runs his own hands up Sung’s chest, equally careful not to touch his core in response and for a moment their eyes connect. “You good?” Sung says after a beat.

“I’m _ready_.” His lips quirk just so, nearing a smirk, not anywhere near to matching the smallness and breathlessness of his voice.

Sung pulls one hand away, lowers the other to the small of the Lepid’s back, applying a liberal amount of lube to his fingers. It’s so quiet in that moment, Phobos’s breath soft upon his shoulder as he leans into Sung. The empath is holding his own breath as he works his first finger, inhaling sharply through his nose once it slips in. “Relax…” He murmurs as he pushes it in further. Phobos finally lets out his own shuddering breath, slumping against Sung, antennae bending awkwardly. “So much for being ready.” He teases.

“Fuck off.” Phobos huffs back. “Keep going, distract me, something…” It was like being up on stage. The moment you started to overthink things is when you were prone to fuck it up, to get into that headspace where nothing felt or sounded right.

So he does.

Sung hooks his arm around Phobos’s waist, mouthing his neck and shoulder as he does, pressing the flat of his tongue to it, dragging it up to the Lepid’s pounding pulse. “Want you so bad.” Sung bites his neck, digging his teeth in until Phobos’s back arches with it and he’s pushing down on to his finger. Sung slips the second one in, grinning when Phobos whines at the addition. “S’good thing you didn’t walk backstage like that because I would have fucked you right there and then.” And he would have, gotten everyone out of the room, pressed Phobos up against the wall, the adrealine from the show still coursing through his veins at that point. 

“Sung.” Phobos gasps out in response, nails scraping up his back, just close enough to painful to spur him on to angle his fingers even deeper. He pulls them all the way out before pushing them back in, finding a slow and steady rhythm that has Phobos’s antennae twitching, whimpering as he opens up.

He doesn’t know how he manages to get himself lubed up but he does some how, some way. Gods, they’re both covered in sweat again, panting into each other’s mouths as Sung pulls his fingers out inch by inch, loving how desperate Phobos was to keep them in, insides clamping around them almost desperately. “You good?” The empath pulls back just so, words slurring with the passion pouring off of the Lepid, meshing with his own.

“You tell me.” Phobos skates a finger over his core and Sung twitches violently, precum spilling down his length in reponse. Phobos give him a shaky smile, a breathless laugh slipping out of him when he realizes what he's managed to do. “Yeah? You worked up Sung?” Just like that Phobos touches him. It's barely anything, nothing really, just the tips of his fingers gliding up and down his cock, but gods it's almost too much for Sung.

He knocks the other's hand away, trusting himself less and less with each passing moment (each pass of his hand, really.)“You tell _me_.” Sung breathes back as he presses the head of his cock up against Phobos’s entrance, holding the other male close as he slides in inch by torturous inch.

By the time Phobos is seated completed a fine trembling has taken up residence along his entire frame. Sung runs his hands over his back, up his sides, cupping his face with gentle hands. “Hey, hey…” He murmurs, trying to get Phobos to focus on him. There’s just a hint of pain there in the Lepid but the rest of it is hazed over by how good it feels. “You with me?”

Phobos puts a hand over his then, a dreamy smile spreading across his flushed face. “Always.” He hums back. Sung can’t help his own smile as it spreads across his freckled face. His core lights the space between them, casting Phobos in strangely beautiful shadows. He rocks his hips then, drawing them back slowly before pressing into Phobos once more, gauging the other’s reaction.

It’s pure bliss. Phobos all but loses himself in the sensation, throwing his head back with a keening noise of pleasure. Sung repeats the action, swearing under his breath at how tight the Lepid feels around him, how _right_. “So good Phobos. So fuckin’ good.” He manages out. Neither of them is going to last long at this point. He can just tell. It was already so much build up, so much need shared between them. Sung’s getting sloppy too, his movements becoming sharp and jerky as he fucks up into the other male's tight heat over and over again. “Phobs.” He gasps out, cheek slipping down the other’s sweat slick chest, mouth working uselessly as he tries say something more than the Lepid's name. “Fuck, I’m-I-I-I...” He stutters out desperately.

“Do it.” Phobos says back in a choked voice. He feels the pressure of his fingers on his core then, callused tips slipping off of it, barely able to keep any kind of purchase. Still. It's enough. Fuck, it's more than enough. He gives a strangled moan as he comes without warning, the light in his chest flickering wildly in tandem.

Phobos smiles in this pleased way in response, corners of his mouth curling as he rides Sung through his orgasm. “Gods, Phobs...y-you…” Sung manages out, eye rolling back as the Lepid tightens around his cock. His core settles finally into a low and warm light the moment Phobos gives a weak cry, his own orgasm rocking through him, causing a viscous fluid to spill out of him, running down his length and onto Sung’s lap. They both slump back then, trying to find their breath once more. Sung eventual gives a huff of a laugh as he comes back to himself, to the tour bus and the darkness waiting outside, infinitely later than it was before. “Holy shit.” He manages as he lets his head fall back onto the wall behind him. “Oh wow, it smells… it smells like sex in here, gods.” He barely resists the urge to say “Dylan would be so proud…” biting his tongue instead, smothering his amusement by pressing his face against the sharp edges of Phobos's collar bone.

“Mmm…” Phobos mumbles back, snuggling closer, not caring in the slightest. “Yup.”

“Yup? That’s all you got to say for yourself?” Gods, is there still more coming out? They’d definitely have to change the sheets at this rate if Phobos kept it up. Hell, they probably should anyways, but that's not the point right now. The point is how pretty Phobos looks like this, flush spread all the way down his neck, hair mussed and hanging over those too large inky eyes of his. “Nothin’ else.”

“Nope.” Phobos giggles, pressing a lazy wet kiss to Sung’s cheek. The empath sighs back in a pleased way, wrapping his arms around Phobos. “We should… we should clean up....” He finally says tiredly.

Sung shakes his head, holds Phobos a bit closer. “Just a bit more.” Not five minutes, just a couple… just a few…

“Okay.” Phobos says and despite sounding resigned Sung can tell by the way he shifts closer, by the way he returns the embrace, that he isn’t annoyed.

Not annoyed at all.

 


End file.
